Air of Enchantment
by Lirenel
Summary: Long ago, a young boy found a world of fantasy. It was a mysterious, beautiful world with fair queens and mighty kings, strange creatures and an enchanting air. It was a world where the good must fight a terrible struggle to protect the world from evil. The young boy found that world. And this is where his story came from. *Any warnings can be found on my user page*
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Air of Enchantment

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything.

**Note: **While originally an answer to challenge 30: Air, it kinda veered away from that. I'm not sure where this story came from. Amazingly, the main character is sort of an OC, though I rather like him, which is odd for me. He's more of a narrator, though, so hopefully he won't put you off reading this. And I say he's 'sort' of an OC, because this is something of a kinda crossover with another book. However, if I tell you now that might spoil some of the story, so I'll only tell you through PM if you _really _want to know.

**Note 2: **This is my penultimate story, which makes the choice of crossover rather fitting. While I may post a drabble lead-in to my last story, there's really only one last fanfic after this, which I hope to post in March, and have it finished by March 18. So enjoy this while it lasts!

* * *

Ronald was utterly lost. _For some time now_, he thought, blinking back unmanly tears. In truth, he had only been lost in the woods on the outskirts of Birmingham for about two hours or so. But for the past year he had been lost in a different way, alone save for Father and his little brother. After Mum's death…Ronald shook his head, the thirteen-year old stoically determined not to let tears fall. Even now it still hurt, even now as he should be more worried about the fact that he no longer knew where he was walking, though twilight had fallen.

The trees were growing thicker now, thicker than Ronald had ever seen them, and he had the most unusual feeling, as if he were no longer in Birmingham. Perhaps no longer in _England_. He rather thought the trees were too old, too large, too _alive_ to be English trees. The sky had darkened and stars now began dotting the skies; stars alike and yet brighter than the ones he was used to seeing. The stars and the bright glow of the moon gave the forest a soft, silver glow as twilight faded into darkness.

Stomach growling, Ronald wished that he hadn't run out on lunch that afternoon. He wished he had not run away at all; Father would probably be angry – or worse, disappointed – and Hilary had been so upset, upset because Ronald had yelled at him for talking about Mum even though he _knew_ Ronald didn't want to think about it. Now Ronald was lost, with no way of getting home, and his overly-vivid imagination was conjuring up the many different and gruesome ways he could die out here. Anything could happen, and no one would ever know, and he would never see Hilary again, never…Choking back a frightened sob, the young boy fingered the rosary Mum, and now Father, insisted he keep in his trouser pocket.

_Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum_.

An owl hooted, causing Ronald to nearly jump out of his skin. Hadn't he read that to hear an owl cry meant death was close behind?

_Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventri tui, Iesus._

A wild wind whipped through the trees, which bowed low and brushed at Ronald with their long branches. Giving a frightened shout, Ronald broke into a run, clutching the rosary to his chest.

_Sancta Maria, mater Dei, ora pro nobis_.

Was that a wolf howling, or just the wind? Where was he, where was home? He wanted to be home, to be back at the Oratory, back with Hilary, back with Father, even if Mum wasn't there anymore.

_Ora pro nobis. ora pro nobis. What was next? _

He didn't see the exposed root, tripping over it in his haste to escape the shadows. The rosary flew from his hand, and Ronald cried out in horror, scrambling to find the precious beads in the darkness of full night. After a frantic search, his hands scrapping against the earth and the sharp twigs and blades of grass, he touched cool stone and Ronald held the rosary tightly in his fist.

_Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae._

_ Amen._

Slowly getting to his feet, Ronald started walking again, instead of running, though his heart still pounded in fear. He continued praying three decades of beads, finishing with a _Pater Noster _after each, before he felt calm enough to stop moving and just sit, his back leaning against one of the great trees. Ronald knew he was now even more lost than he was before, and he wiped his wet eyes against his sleeve. "Please," he prayed aloud, not even crossing himself, "I'm scared. Help me."

It was as if the Lord was just waiting for him to ask, for almost as soon as he finished speaking, Ronald thought he heard music. It was like the bells in church, but wilder, not constrained by stone walls. Voices sang, but it sounded more like leaves rustling than any words he knew. Almost without thinking Ronald stood and started walking towards the wondrous sound. It grew in volume and in beauty even as he walked. A glint of blue starlight caught his eye, and he ducked behind a tree.

Peering around, Ronald's mouth dropped open and he automatically made the Sign of the Cross, for surely he was looking at an angel of the Lord. A woman danced alone in a round clearing, her bare feet hardly touching the ground. She wore a dress the color of the cloudless sky, golden flowers weaving in and out of the fabric. Her dark hair flowed nearly to her feet, a mantle of shadow that framed her dancing form and her pale face. She laughed as she danced to music sung by some invisible bard, and Ronald did not think he had ever heard a purer sound than that laugh, save the church bells at Eastertide.

"Or a nightingale," he whispered, but the singer must have heard him, for the music ceased and the angel faltered gracefully in her dance. Ronald stepped forward, distraught that he had disturbed such beauty and wishing to make amends, but the trees themselves seemed to move and the angel vanished from sight. "Wait, please! Don't go!" The trees rustled angrily in the wind, angry that he had disturbed this dance. "Please, I didn't mean to! I mean no harm, I'm lost, and I don't know how to get home…" Despair began to well up again, but then a lyrical voice broke through the trees.

"Aside, I beg you, my friends. See, he is just a boy in need of aid. Aslan forbid we do not give it to him." Ronald watched in utter astonishment as the trees actually _moved_ to obey the angel, who stepped forward and smiled gently at him. "Forgive my Hamadryad friends; you startled them with your appearance, and they wished to protect me from harm."

"I would never harm you, my lady. And may God strike me down if I ever fail to protect you," he swore, the words flowing out of nowhere, and yet he meant it with every fiber of his being.

Ronald was just an English schoolboy on the verge of manhood, scraped and bruised with tear-stains on his cheeks, but she did not laugh at his oath. Instead she smiled and reached out her hand for him to take. At first he didn't know if he should hold it or kiss it, but the angelic woman just wrapped her pale hand around his. "Come, you look worn and hungry. We shall go to my home at Cair Paravel; you will be made comfortable and I am sure my royal brother will know how to find your home – for I deem you are not from near these parts, and my brother has great knowledge of the lands of this world."

Not trusting his words, Ronald nodded and let the angel lead him through the trees, who seemed to be carefully watching his steps. After a few moments of silence, he finally blurted out: "I'm Ronald."

The angel laughed, a sound still like the ringing of silver bells, but Ronald did not feel that she was laughing at him. "I am Queen Susan of Narnia." Before he could respond coherently, the woods ended and Ronald could only gape at what was before him: A sleeping town like out of the books he read, and above them, on a hill, stood a great castle of white stone, larger than any building Ronald had ever seen and more shining and beautiful than even the great castles of England. It looked liked a palace of heaven, and so he was not surprised when the Queen told him, "Here is Cair Paravel. I bid you welcome to my home."

00000

Ronald remained in a daze as they walked through the town beneath Cair Paravel. Though it was night, there was a murmur of voices in the streets, matching the shadows that slipped by them, out of sight. Occasionally, Queen Susan would stop and speak softly to the shadows that followed their path, but Ronald did not have the ability to look through the night to see who answered.

He did not have long to ponder this, for soon they reached the gates of the great castle. The doors were large, beautifully ornate. Two torches framed the doors, molded in the form of silver trees with leaves of diamond. The doors themselves glittered in the flickering torchlight, sometimes looking to be made of dark wood, sometimes gold or silver or shining steel. Ronald's eyes could hardly even focus on the images engraved on the gate, though he caught glimpses of stars and leaves and crowns.

Suddenly, the doors opened, though no one had touched it. Ronald silently followed the unfazed Queen, turning to watch as the gate shut itself behind them. They were in a courtyard now, with the castle proper towering above them. A single silver birch stood in front of them, its branches bent low over a large, ornate well.

Ronald followed as the Queen approached the tree; despite the magical air of this land, despite what had happened in the wood, he was still startled when the Queen _talked_ to the birch. "My good lord Dryad, I apologize for interrupting your conversation with Mirrormere."

The tree moved, and Ronald's eyes widened as he realized it was not a tree, but a man. Or something like a man, but also like a tree, with arms like branches and hair like leaves, and clothes of bark. The seemingly ageless tree-man bowed low to the Queen. "Your majesty, I am honored to be at your service."

Ronald thought that he also would also do anything the Queen asked, if only to bring such a smile to her face.

"This child is called Ronald, and he will stay at the Cair until we find his home. Please see to making him comfortable in one of the western rooms; he is in need of freshening up." Ronald's cheeks burned as he recalled what a sight he must be, after running through the woods and crawling in the underbrush. Yet the Queen did not speak with disdain, only concern. "When he is ready, if you would guide him to the small banquet hall, I will have the cooks prepare him victuals." The tree-man bowed again, and Queen Susan looked down at Ronald. "Silversun will see to your needs. I shall find my brother, and I am sure he will speak with you to help uncover whence you came and how to return."

Ronald felt that it would be appropriate for him to bow, and he did so, though he felt awkward next to the graceful queen, and even the birch-man. "Thank you, your majesty," he said, before following Silversun around the side of the castle, to a simple, small doorway. He looked back once, only to see the Queen walk towards the castle, her bare feet gliding across the ground as if she were still dancing.

The Dryad, Silversun, led him through a maze of white marble hallways; Ronald tripped several times over his own feet, distracted by the tapestries that covered the walls. The ornate hangings showed scenes of queens and kings, animals and mythical creatures. As they walked, Ronald began realizing that the tapestries were telling a story – the story of this land he was in, of the monarchs who ruled through the ages. One scene, in particular, caught his eye: that of a grand room, sunlight streaming through a lace of glass as two men and two women sat on grand thrones, their heads crowned.

"Those are our beloved sovereigns."

Startled, Ronald looked up at Silversun, who spoke for the first time, his voice slow and, well, woody. "You mean Queen Susan?"

The Dryad gently brushed one, twig-like finger against the tapestry, noting each figure in turn. "Queen Susan, Queen Lucy, King Edmund, and High King Peter."

Ronald scrunched his forehead in confusion. "You have more than one Queen and King?" When Silversun nodded, Ronald's confusion did not end. Since the stylized figure of Queen Susan sat by the High King, he assumed they were married, and perhaps King Edmund and Queen Lucy as well. But why two pairs of Kings and Queens?

It seemed he had spoken aloud, as Silversun corrected him, a hint of pique in the Dryad's voice. "I see there is some confusion, and that your land must be like that of Archenland in society. For though our first King and Queen were indeed wed to one another, it is custom now in Narnia for siblings to rule together, their spouses to be but Lords and Ladies of the realm."

Ronald felt his cheeks flush at the kind reprimand. He was thankful he had not made such a mistake in front of Queen Susan. "Sorry, I didn't know."

Thankfully, Silversun did not seem to be offended, and they continued down the hallway, Silversun occasionally pointing out interesting scenes in the tapestries until Ronald's head spun from the stories. He wished had had time to write them all down, and tried desperately to seal them in his memory. Eventually, Silversun came to a graceful halt in front of a wide, oak door.

The Dryad led Ronald into the room, and the boy came to a sudden halt at the ornate trappings that surrounded him. A great bed lay in the middle of the room, the red- and gold-embroidered comforter matching the canopy that hung above it. The entire room was red with trimmings of gold, the dark furniture inlaid with gold as well. Despite never having seen one himself, Ronald rather thought that this was what a prince's room would look like.

Silversun went through another door in the room, and Ronald scrambled to follow. The door led to a room which was smaller than the bedroom, though it matched in color. What caught Ronald's attention, however, was the long, deep hole, covered in red and white ceramic tiles. Silversun had already started filling the, what Ronald could only presume was a bathtub, with hot, steaming water. The bathtub was quickly filled and Silversun stopped the water-flow before turning to Ronald. "All you require should be available here. I will leave you to your bath."

After the Dryad left the room, shutting the door behind him, Ronald lost no time in stripping off his torn, dirty clothes and nearly leaping into the water. The hot water soothed the lingering aches from his flight in the woods, and Ronald thought a bath had never felt so good. After thoroughly scrubbing the accumulated dirt off with an available soap and brush, Ronald just lay back in the bathtub, which was perfectly shaped within to support him.

Reveling in the warmth of the water, Ronald let his thoughts wander. The last few hours had been as if he had fallen into the world of Faerie, with goddesses dancing in an enchanted wood, a grand castle, and talking _trees_ who drew steaming baths. What _was_ this land, this wondrously strange land? How had he gotten here?

How would he get home?

Ronald frowned as that worried thought intruded on his blissful excitement. Caught in a land where the very air was heavy in enchantment, how could he worry about returning to England? Who would want to ever leave _this_, returning to the place where his mother had painfully wasted away before the eyes of her confused and desperate sons?

Looking around the bathing room to distract himself from that thought, Ronald marveled at the colorful mosaics, showing scenes of life and magic: mermaids dancing, river-waters rising from their banks to become smiling people who flowed through the currents. _How Hilary would love all this, _Ronald thought, guilt warring with delight.

Thinking of his little brother, last seen in tears from the older boy's overly-harsh words, took the rest of the joy from Ronald's bath, even as the water cooled. Leaving the bathtub, Ronald quickly dried himself with a ready towel. He was not quite willing to put back on his rather grimy clothes, so Ronald wrapped the large, warm towel around his body and peeked out into the bedroom. Silversun was not in sight, but a set of new, clean clothes were laid out on the oversized bed. Slinking towards them, Ronald frowned. They were not like his usual, English clothes, but instead seemed to be more like the tunics and leggings from the books he read about King Arthur. However, they were clean and precisely his size, so Ronald figured he should probably wear them. It would not do to eat in dirty clothes – Mum would have raised an eyebrow, and that was never a good thing.

Fairly certain he had put everything on the right way – including the leather boots that fit better than his old, worn pair – Ronald slowly opened the bedroom door and stuck his head out. Movement to the right caught his eyes, and Ronald stood to attention as Silversun approached. The Dryad smiled serenely. "If you are ready, please follow me to the breakfast room. It is not, of course, near time for breakfast, but it is smaller than the dining hall or the banquet hall, and so may be more comfortable. King Edmund will see you shortly." Ronald nodded and the two set off down the hallway, with thankfully fewer twists and turns this time.

00000

Entering the breakfast room, Ronald was again treated to a shock. Spread out on the table was a plentitude of foods: roasted meats, vegetables of the like he could not even name, fruits that were out of season back home, jars of golden honey, and mounds of toast. Ronald's mouth was opened wide and watering as Silversun gently guided him to the seat, in front of which was placed a set of fine china and good silverware. The young boy was almost afraid to touch it – what if he accidentally broke something? Silversun noticed his hesitation, and kindly began filling the plate with all sorts of delicious-looking treats.

It took everything in Ronald not to just start stuffing the food in his mouth. Only his mother's stern and devoted teachings stayed his hand. Ronald dutifully bowed his head and gave thanks to the Lord for the bountiful feast. Finishing with a heart-felt 'amen', Ronald gingerly lifted a fork and began devouring the steamed and seasoned vegetables. Not wanting to miss any of the dishes, Ronald hurriedly cut and speared a piece of chicken. It was almost in his mouth when a thought stopped him.

Pulling the piece of chicken away, Ronald looked over at Silversun, who seemed to be watching him with interest from next to the doorway. "Sir, what day is it?" For surely in traversing into a different world, the days may have changed as well.

Silversun looked puzzled. "It is Starday, the fourth of Meadowgreen."

Ronald frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't know those names."

"Starday is the third day of the week, while Meadowgreen is the month before the summer solstice – the second month in the Narnian calendar." Ronald thanked him and gratefully started eating the chicken. If it was the equivalent of Tuesday here, it would be fine for him to eat meat – Father would be upset with him if he had broken the Friday fast, even in another world.

Very little entered Ronald's thoughts as he continued eating, except the enjoyment of the savory foods before him. Everything was baked and steamed and seasoned to perfection, every bite better than the one before. Young boy that he was, Ronald had no problem devouring what Silversun placed before him, and then helping himself to more. So engrossed was he in eating that he did not notice a tall figure slip into the room, nor see Silversun bow and leave him alone with this new person.

As Ronald reached for the plate of pasta shells stuffed with goat cheese, his eyes caught a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. His fork clattered loudly on the plate as he turned his head and was met by the sight of a man sitting to his side, at the end of the table. With shadow-dark hair crowned with a circlet of silver, this man was at one glace a contradiction. His aura was one of peace, yet there was a glint of weapon-steel at his side, hidden by a cloak the color of the twilight sky. His face was young, but his eyes held the wisdom that came with years untold. Ronald nearly shook under the sharp gaze of those deep-seeing eyes; surely the wisdom and knowledge of this king – for clearly he must be a king – was as great as the beauty and kindness of Queen Susan.

There was a long moment as the king – King Edmund? – held Ronald's wide-eyed stare, peered into his soul, laying judgment. Just as Ronald thought he would break under those eyes and run away, King Edmund blinked and a congenial smile graced his features – no longer a lord of terrible shadows, but a king of soft summer. "I apologize for my lateness, Master Ronald; yet I see my sister has all well prepared for you. Is the meal to your liking?"

Startled by the change, the lightening of the air, Ronald very nearly did not answer. Thankfully, he found his voice before the silence grew too awkward. "Yes, thank you, your majesty. Everyone here has been…very kind."

The king smiled. "It is the Narnian way to welcome all who come with peace in their hearts; my royal sister believes you to be so. I deem that she is right, and that you carry no malice towards our land and family." The sharp, deep eyes fastened on Ronald's eyes again and he held back a shiver. "Yet I also find your appearance in Narnia to be of a strange and doomed nature." It took Ronald a moment to realize that the king was using the archaic form of the word 'doom' – that his appearance in this world had a bearing on fate, though not necessarily a negative one.

He did not get a chance to ask what the king meant, as the man swiftly turned to the inquiries which Ronald had expected. "My sister tells me that you are from a land of which she has not knowledge."

"Yes, I suppose, your majesty. I'm from England. The city of Birmingham, to be more precise."

King Edmund sat back in his chair; though relaxed, he still looked as if he were upon a throne. "These names are unfamiliar to me as well; there are no lands by those names within the known reaches of Narnia. Truly, I cannot imagine that one could step into the Forest Fence from such an unknown land, though, save through magic and the leave of Aslan."

Ronald felt a warm chill run up his spine at the name of Aslan; there seemed a sacred heatheness about it that was both pleasant and terrifying. "I…I don't know any Aslan, your majesty," he felt blasphemous admitting it, "and until a few hours ago, I was sure magic didn't exist. But my mother made us study hard, including geography, and I know there isn't a place called Narnia anywhere in England, and certainly not near Birmingham. And things like Dryads and moving trees are only in myths and fairy tales. Back home, at least."

The king nodded, though the deep look had returned when Ronald had mentioned his mother – could King Edmund have seen how just talking about her still hurt? However, the man was polite and did not deem it right to inquire about such a matter at that time. "So you had no intention of entering our kingdom?"

Ronald shook his head emphatically. "No, your majesty."

"And your happening upon the Queen Susan as she danced? This was unintentional as well?"

The question gave Ronald pause; but he felt that he could not be less than perfectly honest with this king. "I think the Lord led me to the queen for help."

King Edmund's frown was startling. "What lord is this?"

"The Lord Our God," replied Ronald automatically.

The frown disappeared, replaced by a look of interest. "And which god would that be?"

Thatsurprised Ronald, though then again, this was apparently a magical land beyond the circles of the world. "The only God there is, your majesty."

There was a light silence before King Edmund spoke again. "I believe I see. You worship this one god, and he gave you aid when you were lost."

Ronald did not think it would be very wise of him to try and explain Trinitarian theology, so he simply nodded and said, "Yes, your majesty."

There was another pause; then King Edmund returned the nod and laid his forearms against the table. "I owe you and your god a debt of gratitude, then." He said this with such intense seriousness that Ronald's eyes widened. The king explained further. "Even as you were arriving at Cair Paravel, word reached us that the Forest Fence was attacked by unknown assailants. Several trees were burnt, and three died before the attackers were run off. It is well known that the Queen Susan often dances in that wood at night; and all evidence indicates that she was the intended target."

Ronald felt cold at the thought that anyone would try and hurt the queen. "I don't understand." Not why someone would attack Queen Susan, or burn living, walking trees, or why King Edmund thought he deserved thanks.

It was the last question that the king answered. "My sister will often dance into the hours of the morning. Yet your arrival gave her cause to return to the Cair early. Had your god not felt it meet to give you aid, my sister may well have been killed." A glimpse of haunted fear slipped past the king's guarded expression, a glimmer of emotion that made the other-worldly man seem nearly human.

Ronald pushed away his plate, no longer hungry. "I…I'm glad I came here, then, if only for that."

King Edmund nodded in agreement, but a light like that of the stars glinted in his eyes. "And yet, it is to my mind that this encounter, no matter its fortune, is not that doom for which you are here, but for your own fate."

The King did not spent much more time talking with Ronald, for which the boy was thankful – his stomach full, he was beginning to fall asleep sitting at the table. His mind was already a sleepy muddle when he bid good night to the king and was led by Silversun back to the bedroom. Ronald fell asleep almost as soon as the blankets covered him, the sweetest sleep he had had since his mother's death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

As you might have noticed, this story is very focused on description. While the plot picks up a bit next chapter, the focus is still mainly on the descriptions. I am trying out a different way of writing, and this style fit with the story.

* * *

When Ronald woke the next morning, he nearly forgot where he was. But the moment he opened his eyes to the sight of the low fire in an ornate fireplace, the tapestries on the wall, the heavy, embroidered coverlet over him, he remembered everything. Getting up quickly, he washed his face and changed the clothes he had fallen asleep in for a new set of Arthurian garments. Almost as soon as he was finished dressing, a knock came at the door. It was Silversun, who politely and stoically informed him that the High King and Queen Lucy were returning from battle, and that all of Cair Paravel was gathering to meet the triumphant army.

Anxious to see the brother and sister of Queen Susan and King Edmund, Ronald hurried after the tall Dryad, all the while craning his neck to look around him, the palace so different in the morning sun. White marble glistened, and the carvings and mouldings stood out now that they were no longer cast in shadow. The two met with a crowd of excited people – but not just humans. There were other Dryads, animals of all sorts and sizes – all talking – and there were Dwarves, and tall, nearly translucent beings that looked like Dryads made of water, which he learned were Naiads. The crowd gathered in the courtyard, near the well where Queen Susan had found Silversun the night before. Unfortunately, as he looked around, Ronald lost sight of Silversun, too jostled around by the excited beings near him.

Ronald was not sure whether it was a good thing or not that he ended up standing behind a small flock of sheep. While it allowed him to clearly see the arched entranceway to the courtyard, through which the army would enter, the fact remained that it was a flock of _Talking_ Sheep. Talking Sheep, as Ronald quickly found, _liked_ to talk – and not just talk, but talk a lot and loudly. If Ronald had hoped at all to overhear the monarchs speaking – after all, they were not standing _too_ far away – that hope was crushed as the Sheep nattered incomprehensively to each other.

He was distracted from his annoyance as the column of soldiers entered through the gates and into the courtyard. At its head were two human knights, wearing armor like the pictures of Saxon housecarls, but they were mounted on mighty warhorses. One of the knights wore shield and sword, while the other carried a bow and quiver, with a short sword strapped to his side. These knights raised their right hands simultaneously, and the crowd responded with a loud cheer: "Hail, Narnia!" This seemed to signal the end of the parade formation, which quickly collapsed, soldiers and crowds-people converging with embraces and loud, happy voices.

In the confusion, Ronald got pushed into the middle of the Sheep flock. After a moment of panic as he thought he might be crushed by a group of walking sweaters, Ronald realized that, while he was stuck, the Sheep were not crushing him too much, despite their excitement and distracted chattering. Still, it seemed unlikely that he would be moving anytime soon, since his legs were trapped.

So Ronald decided that the best he could do was stand and observe the goings-on from his woolen prison. The two knights had already dismounted and approached King Edmund and Queen Susan, who waited at the base of the castle, as some servants led their horses towards the stables and others hurried to relieve the knights of their weaponry. Ronald watched as the larger of the knights removed his silver helm to reveal the face of a man who seemed both careworn and joyful. He was as tall as King Edmund, yet more broad-shouldered. His bearing was just as regal, though the power he exuded was overtly obvious compared to King Edmund's subtle strength. Combined with his fair hair, the knight looked every bit the Saxon warrior-king, save he was clean-shaven. With the warm greeting the knight received from King Edmund and Queen Susan, there was little doubt in Ronald's mind that this was the High King, Peter of Narnia.

The Sheep were in little doubt as well, the buzz of wooly voices rising with proud elation as the High King greeted his siblings. Ronald could hardly understand the Sheep, only catching the names of the four sovereigns: Susan, Edmund, Peter, Lucy. Hearing the name of the youngest Narnian sovereign reminded Ronald of Silversun mentioning that Queen Lucy would be returning with the High King and his army. Yet looking around, Ronald could not see a lady among the returning group.

That was, until the second knight removed his helmet, freeing a cascade of golden hair which framed the soft features of a young woman. Ronald was very nearly glad of the Sheep, for the pressure against his legs kept him from stumbling in shock. Whereas Queen Susan even now seemed an angel of the starlight, this woman, clearly the Queen's royal sister despite her fair coloring, was a sunlit Valkyrie. As if realizing Ronald was staring at her, Queen Lucy turned from her siblings, piercing him with a gaze of blue-silver.

She, too, seemed able to see into his soul, but she did not just read his heart as her brother had: Ronald had the chilling feeling that the queen knew everything about him. Ronald wanted to cower away, hide from her sight, but he could not even blink. For one, blasphemous moment, Ronald had the thought that it was like standing before the Holy Virgin in her otherworldly glory.

Then the queen turned back to her siblings and the feeling passed with such relief that Ronald nearly tripped over one of the Sheep. Slightly dazed, Ronald searched for a way out of the crush of the crowd. After a few minutes of struggle, he was able to squeeze out of the woolen trap of Sheep; but not before tripping over a Ewe who was barely out of Lamb-hood.

Thankfully, before he could hit the ground, his flailing arms were caught by strong hands. The hands set him upright, and Ronald looked up at his savior. "Thank you, Silversun," he said, gratefully nodding at the Dryad.

Ronald thought Silversun nearly cracked a smile, but it quickly turned into what Ronald could only call a snobbish sniff. "_Sheep_ are a menace. I am happy to relieve you of their company." Ronald could not bring himself to disagree, especially since one of the Sheep was looking at Silversun rather hungrily. He took a moment to ponder the dichotomy of a tree-man and herbivores living side-by-side, not to mention the inclusion of carnivorous animals. Ronald then decided that, if the Narnians could live peacefully for hundreds of years despite these differences, there was no need for him to fret over it. So he followed Silversun back into the castle, wondering all the while if he would ever get to meet the High King or his Valkyrie sister.

00000

As they passed the throne room, Ronald noticed that there were now four shields hung over the doors, where before there had been two. He had not taken much notice of the shields before, what with the distractions of the hall itself with its carved pillars, stained glass windows, and colorful frescoes, but Ronald was becoming more and more perceptive concerning Narnian art. Namely, anything involving the number four usually had some connection to the present four rulers of Narnia. With this in mind, Ronald had a feeling that the appearance of the two shields alongside their brethren had something to do with the return of the High King and Queen Lucy. Being more relaxed in Silversun's presence now, he felt free to ask the Dryad if his assumption was correct.

Silversun seemed amused and, Ronald hoped, slightly impressed at the boy's insight. "You are correct. Those are the battle crests of our sovereigns; whenever a king or queen leaves for war, their shield is removed, replaced only at their majesty's safe return."

Ronald nodded in understanding. "Which is whose?"

Silversun smiled – Ronald rather thought the Dryad enjoyed giving out facts – and noted each shield in turn. "For the High King is the crimson shield, upon which is emblazoned a silver lion rampant beneath a golden-rayed sun – these blazons for the Great King under whom his majesty is High King. Queen Susan's archers follow the banner of the white swallow on a verdant field, for their arrows fly far and swift."

"King Edmund was granted the arms of the Wrathful Hammer, for he led a sortie to protect the Smiths of Western Hollyhills as they retreated from the dragon-razed ruins of their homes beyond our borders. In thanks, the Smiths gave their allegiance and skills to Narnia's Crowns, and Aslan gave our king the arms of a black hammer striking anvil upon a golden shield. The Queen Lucy, as her eldest sister, chose her own arms, though they came to her in a dream of farsight. Her majesty bears a simple, white swan-wing upon a dark blue field. As the queen controls the Fleet of the Eastern Sea, Narnian ships all carry a swan for their prows in her honor."

As Silversun finished speaking, a Cougar slinked up beside the Dryad, startling Ronald but not Silversun who must have heard the Cat coming. Ronald was shocked, though, when the Cougar spoke, for his accent was nearly unintelligible, almost like an American attempting to speak Shakespearean English. In fact, the Cougar's voice was so surprising and strange that Ronald did not even bother trying to follow along. Thankfully, an amused Silversun was kind enough to translate after the Cougar left; simply, that the Four Sovereigns were breaking their fast alone and that guests would be provided their fare in their rooms. Suddenly realizing his own hunger, Ronald was quick to follow Silversun, sparing a last look at the shields which were lit by the sun through a golden window.

Ronald spent most of the day wandering through Cair Paravel, guided by Silversun. They wound through staired streets, through markets and parks, then back to the castle with its tall tower and marble halls. Throughout it all, they passed many strange and wondrous Narnians, speaking with some, simply smiling at others. It was a memorable, exhausting day, and Ronald felt more and more at home here.

That evening Ronald dined alone, as Silversun had other tasks in the castle. The food was plentiful and delicious as always, so filling that Ronald actually fell asleep soon after he was finished, curling up among the many pillows on his bed without even bothering to change clothes. His dreams were sweet, filled with the sound of waves, laughter and deep words upon the ocean. There were songs and smiles, and, beneath, a warning of fire. And there was a voice, deep and pure, which whispered for him to wake.

Wake Ronald did, though it was not yet midnight. Rested, yet still entranced by sleep, he got up and walked through the castle. Though the halls were dark save for a few torches, and though he knew not the ways in which he walked, somehow he found his way outside to the courtyard. He did not know what he was looking for until he turned to the northwest corner of the courtyard, where the ornate well stood gleaming white in the moonlight.

There, standing next to the well, stood a woman dressed in white, with golden hair flowing down her back, woven with silver jewels. It was Queen Lucy and she looked up from the well as he approached cautiously. The Valkyrie had been put away, revealing a queen as ethereal and beautiful as Queen Susan. Her gaze pierced him, deeper than her brother's, just as knowing as it had been before when Ronald had met it. Yet she smiled, pure as spring, and spoke gently to him. "Greetings, Master Ronald."

"You know who I am?" he blurted out, amazed that any would think to tell her his name.

Queen Lucy's laugh was…thicker than her sister, high and clear but more. "Should you have just been the means of my sister's salvation, I would simply give you my thanks. It is that Lord Silversun has continued to see personally to your care, and that one can find a ghost of a smile on his face that gives you my gratitude." Her eyes, blue as the sea and the twilight sky, grew sad for a moment. "The death of his son long ago stole his laughter."

Ronald was startled at this information about his friend. That Silversun was apparently nobility was startling, yet it was his friend's loss that occupied his mind and Ronald found that he grieved for the Dryad. "I…I didn't know. I didn't _do _anything." He had only been himself, a lost boy in a strange land who knew next to nothing.

The wisdom in Queen Lucy's expression grew deeper, and she looked down at the well next to her. Ronald saw the water within move without wind, and thought for a moment that the queen had done this magic. Yet then he saw a woman's face who was not Queen Lucy, and he realized that the well held a Naiad – and then he recalled that Silversun had been speaking to this Naiad – Mirrormere? – on the night he had arrived. As if reading his mind, Queen Lucy spoke. "Mirrormere has told me of your arrival to our castle. She saw, as I see, that doom follows your footsteps." Queen Lucy stared straight at Ronald and he shivered, though he could not look away. "Wherever you come from, Aslan brought you here for a reason: for my sister, for Lord Silversun, for yourself. It is not a doom of greatness," she said with kind assurance as Ronald nearly began panicking. "The world shall not rise or fall upon your presence. It is but that you were _meant_ to be here. It is your choice as to what will come of it."

Ronald was quiet the next day, though not so silent as to not enjoy his time learning more of this land. Silversun told him of the peoples of this world: not just the Narnians, but the men of Archenland and the mighty empire of Calormen to the south, the giants to the north, the islands to the east. He spoke of seafarers who sought Aslan's Country at the end of the world, who never returned from their journey. He spoke often of his own people, the Dryads, and their brethren the Naiads; he mentioned obliquely the spirits of air, earth, and fire who lived beyond the West of Narnia, but the way he spoke of them was wrought with tension. From facts, Silversun turned to tales of knights and kings, ancient and great, of dragons and wars and the Great Arrivals of Aslan. He spoke of the High King and his siblings, of the nobility of Narnia and their great accomplishments.

Silversun never spoke of his own family, nor mentioned that he was a lord of Narnia, and Ronald never asked.

Given time, Ronald slowly began to reciprocate with his own stories. He told Silversun of King Arthur and his Round Table, of the Roman Empire's fall and the Saxon invasion. He related the story of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, and the tale of Curdie and the goblins. Silversun seemed to enjoy his recitation, however rough it was.

Thus passed the day and Ronald's appreciation for stories and their beauty grew, as it did for the flowing language Silversun used in his tales. He loved how the Dryad chose words with care and thought to sound and meaning, and how they flowed together to create beauty. Tentatively, he even tried to weave the words himself, and found joy in the way the choice of words could create a picture as intricate as a painting. The joy overcame the thoughts of doom that whispered in his ears.

Until night came again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

And the action picks up a bit. The violence is in this chapter, but I don't think it very gruesome. Also, er, remember that all warnings are in my profile.

* * *

Unlike the sweet dreams of the previous night, Ronald found his sleep invaded by terror. Most he could not recall, but there were shards of memories mixed in. At one point he watched again as his mother sickened, her body deteriorating as it destroyed itself despite her indomitable will. Another time he saw Hilary crying after Ronald had yelled at him and boxed his ears. Throughout his nightmares ran a heart-twisting agony of fear, regret, grief, and loneliness.

These feelings were wrapped and woven with fire, all-encompassing and terrible. Flames licked at his feet as he ran, fire pursuing him, shrieking, the wrath of an angry god. Then, with a shout he awoke, and the shrieks were real, coming from the hallways and beyond. The smell of smoke whisped through the air in Ronald's room, mixing nightmare with wakefulness.

Then he saw the red-yellow glow and he ran to his window, fully awake, knowing something was terribly wrong. For his mind told him that the light had to be dawn, but his window faced west. Looking out over the city, Ronald's heart nearly stopped. There, spread out across the fields beyond the high white walls, was a crawling sea of creatures, a black army. He could see no features of the soldiers, but the leaders were unmistakable.

Great giants walked at the head of the army, but they had no mortal flesh. As the Naiads were water and spirit, so in these flames wove across insubstantial bodies, ghosts of fire whose steps were followed by choking, black smoke. The stories of Silversun came back to him, and he realized that these were the spirits of fire from the West, the race which were called Djinn like in the stories from the Orient of Ronald's world.

As clear as the identity of these giants was the fact that Cair Paravel had been caught completely by surprise; they were unprepared for such an assault. The walls were hardly manned, the front gate hastily barred. Ronald watched, horrified, as the walls began crumbling beneath the assault of a great creature that he would have called a dragon if it had had wings. Instead it used great claws to tear at the white stone, roaring as whips of flame surged past it, into the city.

By the mass of panicked Narnians streaming into the courtyard of the castle, it seemed that most of the citizens had already evacuated the lower city. Behind them, the swarm of enemy creatures flooded through the streets, burning and destroying. Key intersections were held by brave, motely companies of Narnia's armies. Ronald could see the banner of the High King in the distance, gleaming red in the light of the flames and holding the main road to the citadel.

Shouts beneath his window caught Ronald's attention. Beneath him the Narnians were running to either side of the castle, others flooding _out _of the castle to join them. Ronald realized with a start that they were not searching for shelter in the castle, whose walls may not hold back the vast enemy. No, the Narnians streamed to the gardens, towards the eastern wall, where Ronald remembered were doors over the sea-cliffs. The small stairs in the cliff led down, down to a small strip of beach. But behind that beach, within the cliffs, were caves trapped behind the tide – likely the people were attempting to take refuge there, where the sea would protect them. Ronald wondered if the tide was even low enough for them to reach the caves, or if they would be trapped upon the beach.

There was a loud noise and Ronald whirled around as Silversun burst through the door. The boy stared for a moment. The normally stiff Dryad, with his scholarly mien, had been replaced by a fierce warrior. Silversun's armor was light, appearing as sheathes of birch bark covering his chest, stomach, shoulders, and thighs. His leafy hair was pulled back with a hastily-tied band, a helm covering his head, nose, and cheeks. Shining at his side, Silversun held a longsword, carrying the heavy weapon effortlessly in his right hand.

"Come!" Silversun ordered and Ronald raced to don his boots, tying the laces into quick knots. Then the Dryad grabbed his hand and pulled him roughly along. Ronald stumbled blindly after him, wishing he was wearing more than a loose nightshirt and sleeping-trousers. Around them, the residents of the castle were running to and fro. Many were fleeing with Ronald and Silversun, panicked and screaming. Others were soldiers, shouting orders, marching orderly and quickly to their posts.

"Silversun!"

They did not cease their hurried flight, but Silversun turned his head to see a Snow Fox, who walked and spoke as one with authority. "How now the battle, Alopen?"

The Fox, though bearing a small crest of a white tower around his neck as a Lord of Narnia, reported as if to a superior officer; Roland wondered if Silversun's rank was greater than he had thought. "Our Just King has made away! The High King pulls back to the citadel!"

Silversun nodded and gave orders, shouting to be heard over the noise and confusion. "I take the child to the cliffs. Assemble your company of the Tower with mine of the Diamond Fount, north-west of the gates. I will rendezvous with you and the High King." A salute and Lord Alopen the Snow Fox was gone.

Ronald thought it sounded strange that they were speaking like King Edmund had fled the city. For a moment he imagined the worst – treachery – but silently he castigated himself for thinking the word. If there were a traitor in Cair Paravel, it would not be that king. Even barring the utter wisdom and justice that had seemed embodied in King Edmund – clear even in those few moments Ronald spoke with him – Silversun and Lord Alopen had acted too calmly. Therefore, the Snow Fox must have been speaking of something else. If Ronald were not so scared and close to panic at the moment, he would have tried to figure out the words of the courtly, byzantine language used by the warrior courtiers.

Silversun tugged his arm harder, and Ronald winced at the force used. The Dryad's face was creased with worry, and the panic Ronald felt increased to see it. Already feeling the hysteria of the people around him – Ronald had nearly been trampled by a frightened Elephant – seeing Silversun actually look worried was completely terrifying. The terrible sounds of frightened people and Animals grew louder and Ronald's vision was beginning to blur.

The flood of fleeing Narnians began to slow, and Ronald thought through his terror that they must be bottle-necking through the eastern doors. Silversun must have thought the same, for he began tugging Ronald away from the crowd. "This way!" he shouted, not just to Ronald but to the others around them. Few in the panicked mob heeded the call, particularly when they realized that the Dryad was moving towards the front of the castle. In fact, it was hard going as they moved against the flow of the crowd. Still, they made it to the front hall and out through the atrium. Instead of the great front doors, Silversun led the way through smaller doorways to the side of the main entrance.

00000

Exiting the castle, Silversun pulled Ronald down the steps, only for both to freeze as they reached the ground of the courtyard. The walls were backlit by fire and smoke that rose like a great monster hovering high above the Narnian army which was arrayed in the field around the castle. At the head were the Silver Lion on scarlet of the High King, with the Swan Wing of Queen Lucy arrayed behind. A flash of white caught Ronald's eye near the queen's banner. Looking closely, he realized that it was the queen herself. The attack had come on so suddenly that she had not changed out of her white, flowing nightgown; instead, she had donned a breastplate over the dress, covered her flowing, golden hair with a helm, and wielded a sword in one hand and a spear in the other. If Ronald had thought her a Valkyrie before, now she was Athena and Artemis, wisdom and wildness, stoic warrior and vicious huntress.

As Silversun began pulling at his arm again, Ronald followed. The frantic pace did not keep Ronald from seeing a third banner, the White Swallow of Queen Susan. It was arrayed on the citadel walls, and there! The queen walked along the lines of archers who loosed their arrows at the enemy just on the other side of the stonework. Her impossibly long veil of hair was pulled into a mess of braids, some wound round her head, some trailing down her back and around the quiver of arrows she bore. A black dress and dark armor hid her form, and she moved like a shadow behind her men. Ronald could hear her shouting commands, anger and rage replacing the gentle calm he had known, and Ronald could only call her a fae where before had been an angel.

With the south and west being under heaviest assault, Silversun led Ronald towards the northern end of the courtyard – despite it being the longer route, or perhaps _because_ it was the longer, less travelled way to the eastern caves. They passed behind Queen Lucy's command and were nearing the northwest edge of the courtyard when a shout went up and a thunderous crash ripped through the air. A roar and bright, fiery light rose up and Ronald realized with horror that the enemy had broken through the gate and part of the wall. The clear, commanding voice of the High King lifted in response, and the Narnian army held firm as the creatures of a kind Ronald could not even name crashed upon them like a wave of thorns.

The middle and left of the Narnian line pushed back against the invaders, even as the great Djinn generals smote them with flaming swords and whips of black smoke. But even as Ronald and Silversun turned the northwest corner of the castle, the right, north flank faltered under the assault of the tallest of the Djinn. Ronald froze as he realized that the dark creatures, with their bloodied fangs and yellow eyes and chilling howls were coming right towards him, urged on by their general. _Oh God, help me!_ he wanted to cry, but the words stuck in his throat, and he could only scream and pray silently for mercy.

Suddenly, white bark obscured his terrible view and Ronald stumbled backwards as Silversun pushed him behind him. "Run!" the Dryad shouted, only barely looking at the boy. "Go, run!" and Ronald kept stumbling, trying to flee and watch his friend at the same time.

The enemy creatures converged on the tall Dryad, but their howls turned to pained shrieks as they met Silversun's blade. The Dryad was a whirlwind, cutting down all who came against him, all who tried to get past him. A few other Narnians rallied around Silversun and soon the enemy began being pushed back. Ronald, seeing this, tried to make his way along the side off the castle, but realized that the way was blocked. Somehow, while they had been running through the castle, they had missed the attacks of the enemy siege engines. The damage done to the north side of the castle was substantial, enough that the way to the eastern cliffs and caves was blocked by fallen debris. Ronald was stuck between the large piles of stone and the enemy.

Even if he had a sword, Ronald did not think he could turn and join the fight; he was no warrior, he was just a child! So he followed his instincts and his intrigues and found a hiding place in the debris from where he could watch the battle in relative safety. Scurrying into a crevice of stone, Ronald turned his gaze to the conflict, desperately searching for sight of his friend.

There!

Ronald spotted Silversun in the midst of the heaviest fighting, and then he wished he had not. For there, challenging the Dryad, was the tall Djinn general. Though it held the shape of a man, none could ever call such a thing 'human'. Cruel eyes of fire and smoke narrowed with cold evil as the beast struck at Silversun with a sword of obsidian fire. Ronald cried out at the attack, unheard over the sound of flame hitting steel as Silversun parried, legs buckling under the blow.

"To Silversun! Rally Diamond Fount!" came the shout and many Narnians, the majority Dryads themselves, rallied to their leader, but were held back from his side by the Djinn's crawling army. Ronald saw Lord Alopen, white fur streaked with black and red, struggling to reach Silversun with his own contingent of the Tower, but to no avail. Silversun stood alone against the Djinn, barring the general from advancing his troops to the castle.

Ronald could not find words to describe the battle. He stared, eyes stinging from smoke, from the burning fire of the Djinn. Again and again Djinn and Dryad smote at each other, Silversun's steel quenching large black strokes on his enemy, while the Djinn's flames burned and cracked Silversun's bark-like skin. Around them Narnian and enemy creature alike were slain, but none reached the inferno that was the duel of these two warriors. They fought, each pressing the other with strength and fervor. Neither gave ground, but their battlefield danced beneath their feet until they stood next to the well of Mirromere.

As the combatants neared the well, the Naiad rose up from her watery chambers. Ronald could only hear steam from where the heat of the Djinn attacked the fair Mirrormere, but it looked as if she were calling to Silversun. Whatever words she spoke were responded to by Silversun, for he seemed to be driving his opponent towards the well, even as Mirrormere faded back down to its depth. Ronald held his breath, for surely the well-water would be a great weapon against the fires of the Djinn general.

However, the Djinn was far from being a simple creature. He recognized a trap and roared with laughing anger. Eschewing sword, the Djinn drew a knife of flame and stone, and lunged at Silversun. Caught off guard, the Dryad barely held onto his own sword as the Djinn's fire burned his body. Then Ronald could barely see what was happening as flames and tears obscured his vision. He could hear, oh he could hear the crackling of burning bark, the yells of the Narnians nearby, the angry shouts of the Djinn. Worst, he heard Silversun's pained screams, his cries for Mirrormere.

Then the well exploded, white bricks flying and slamming against foe and friend alike. An angry wall of water rose like rapids into the air, and within was the faint, delicate form of Mirrormere. She hesitated, but Silversun screamed at her and she fell upon the duelers as they were locked in their deadly embrace. The Djinn bellowed in agony as Mirrormere wraped her rushing, writhing arms around them. The shrieks of steam drowned out nearly all sound as Djinn and Dryad were dragged through the broken well, into the dark, watery depths. A great cloud of steam then rose into the air, and the duel was over.

00000

Shock fell over the two armies for but a moment before fighting resumed with greater ferocity. Ronald, however, found the battle to be muted, colorless. He felt numb, for surely he had just seen the death of his guide, his friend. His mind could hardly wrap around that fact, denying it, but unable to see how Silversun could have survived fire and water. The Narnian army seemed to have the same conclusion, as they clamored and shouted, seeking vengeance for their fallen lord. The battle picked up, moving closer to where Ronald hid, frozen among the rocky debris. It was only when he was nearly stepped on by a Faun climbing the fallen stones for height against his foe that Ronald realized his own danger.

He cowered, trying to sink further into the debris, hiding in the dark crevice between two large boulders. The smoke, while thick, was little cover and only made Ronald dizzier, hardly able to focus on the battle above and around him. He saw Narnians cut down in a haze of red, enemies surging forward in mounds like black hills, ants overtaking all in their path. Still there were the other Djinn and…Ronald gasped as he realized the Djinn felled by Silversun and Mirrormere had been but little compared to this one. Twice again as tall as his brethren, with a crown of iron and opal, this was surely the King of the Djinn. A being far greater in power, many were felled in his path as the Djinn King laughed a cruel, merciless laugh.

Desperately trying to stay the destruction caused by the creature were the High King and his guard. Even these, the strongest and greatest of the Narnian army were being pushed back, corralled by the debris and the eastern wall which overlooked the ocean. Ronald screamed and covered his face as the Djinn King passed by his hiding place; the heat blistered his skin, the light burned his eyes, the smoke drowned his lungs. _Holy Virgin, save me!_ he cried in pain, in terror. The answer to his prayer came as the Djinn passed by and the oppression lifted. The damage remained, though, and Ronald struggled for breath, gasping desperately for clean air where little could be found. His body overwhelming his conscious thought, Ronald crawled from his hiding space, blindly scrambling for relief, coughing and gagging as he ached for relief for his burning skin, burning lungs.

Pain overwhelmed, as did exhaustion, and Ronald collapsed against some fallen stone. Amazingly, neither friend nor enemy noticed the small boy who lay gasping on the ground. For an eternal moment there was little else but pain; then it plateaued and suddenly it was as if Ronald was hardly in his own body. His watery eyes opened and he watched the scenes before him in vague interest.

Near him, Queen Lucy fought two attackers at once, hindered by the one who pulled her hair in its tight pinchers. Arrows still rained down from the bow of the fae figure of Queen Susan. Both were desperately trying to reach their brother. The High King stood upon the eastern wall, his guard wounded and dead around him, a lone figure standing defiant before the Djinn King who loomed so far above the human. The two were counterpoints, both fiery and golden, but one burned with shadows and the other with sunlight as morning rose behind them. They fought each other, not as Silversun had against the Djinn general, but as two mountains exploding, radiant and mighty.

Yet it was even as with Silversun, for neither king could overcome their foe, and they slowly destroyed each other, strike upon strike of swords and shields, the walls crumbling beneath them as they fought. Shining golden and red, the volcanic force of the duel could be felt even by those locked in battle beneath, and those who drew near the kings fell to the ground with strangled cries by the forces meted out upon the eastern wall. Sparks, showers of burning gold lit the morning sky as Djinn mace fell against Narnian shield, as Narnian steel sliced through the flames of the Djinn. Blow upon blow and then a piercing cry filled the air, a cry taken up by a cacophony of clear, shrill voices.

Looking up in a daze, Ronald saw the shadows of giant wings diving from the pale-dark sky. _Eagles. Great eagles! _Spots danced across Ronald's eyes as his limited breath caught at the sight of dozens, hundreds of giant eagle-creatures storming towards the battle. And atop the lead eagle was a small, silver figure. The call rose up among the Narnians as King Edmund brought upon the field of battle these desperately needed reinforcements, which now hurled themselves upon the enemy with razored talons and sharp beaks.

The eagles were met by the main force of Djinn who tore at the flying beasts with hands and whips, accompanied by the dark bolts of enemy archers. There was a desperation in the cries of the eagles that Ronald did not understand, that did not match the upper hand that the Narnians had been given. He did not understand, not until he heard the loud crumbling of stone. Ronald swiftly turned his head to the side, only for his gaze to darken. His last sight before unconsciousness took him was of the eastern wall falling into the sea below, taking with it the great leader of the Djinn and the High King as the horrified, helpless Narnians watched their mighty, golden king plummet to his death.

00000

How long he was unconscious, Ronald did not know. He felt a gentle hand jostle his head and felt a drop of rain fall into his mouth, a raindrop that exploded into the taste of strawberries and woodlands and summer days and the breaking of waves on the seashore. What it was, Ronald never found out. By the time he opened his eyes, he saw only a flash of white as Queen Lucy dashed among the injured, alongside who must have been the medics.

It was then that Ronald realized that his breathing had returned to normal and his skin no longer ached with blisters. It was also then that the sounds registered. Names were shouted frantically, calls for healers. Most of all there were screams of agony, groans of the dying as the shouts of battle had given way to the cries of the wounded. Ronald sat up and slowly looked around him, eyes wide at the sight. Looming above him was the damaged, blackened stones of the castle, so many of which now lay crumbled around Ronald. Strewn across these fallen stones were the bodies of the enemy, and of the Narnians not yet removed by the haunted orderlies who doggedly searched the rubble – literally dogged were the searchers, many of whom were Hounds, their noses sniffing at each corpse to detect the faintest traces of life.

Ronald swallowed hard as he saw the Hounds turn sadly away from so many. He moved his gaze to the remains of the eastern wall. There, standing on the foundations was one of the Great Eagles. By the eagle's side stood the tall, armored form of King Edmund; both stared down, over the tall cliff, and Ronald remembered seeing the High King fall, taking the King of the Djinn with him, just like…Ronald swallowed again and pulled himself to his feet, making his way to the wall. As he neared, the Great Eagle let out a shriek. Ronald stood wide-eyed as he watched King Edmund leap nimbly onto the back of the eagle and the two plunged over the side of the cliff.

Scrambling onto the broken wall, Ronald joined a group of Narnians who huddled together, all watching with bated breath. There in the water was a flash of a large fishtail – no, the tail of a mermaid, for the face and body of a lovely young women had emerged for a moment, and then was surrounded by many of her kindred as she carried… Then Ronald's view was obscured as King Edmund leaned dangerously far over the eagle's back and scooped up what the mermaid held out to him. It was the body of a man. Ronald realized that it must be the High King's body, just as the quiet, haunted murmurs spread among the gathered Narnians.

Ronald turned with the others as the king-bearing eagle flew over them; the boy's face was brushed by the firm wind pushed by the giant wings, a clear wind without the smoke that still lingered in the air, though Ronald could see no Djinn. A crowd gathered as the eagle landed, and somehow Ronald was pushed to the very front where he could see the heart-wrenching scene in full view. King Edmund slid off the back of the eagle, and then sank to the ground, still cradling the High King in his arms. The Just King's uncovered head was bowed low over the body, and Ronald was shocked to see that those strong, proud shoulders were trembling.

All was silent save for the groans of the wounded still attended to by the medics. So quiet it was, that Ronald and the Narnians who stood in an anxious circle around their kings could hear King Edmund's soft whispers. "Brother. Brother, please wake," he brokenly pleaded. "Please wake. Do not leave…" The King's whispers dissolved to silent tears and Ronald cried with him, sharing his tears with all the Narnians who were falling to grief.

Yet a shout, a hopeful cry rose up as a blur of white and silver and gold dashed across the bloody field. The blur coalesced into the form of Queen Lucy, who fell to her knees next to her brothers, some sort of medical kit in her hand. Behind her flew Queen Susan, her pale face that of a weeping angel, fae no longer. All those around the four sovereigns waited in earnest, desperate hope as Queen Lucy worked, the sight blocked by the hovering form of Queen Susan who clutched her eldest brother's still hand in a white knuckled grip.

The moment lingered, one of the longest Ronald could recall. His eyes never left the kings and queens, who noble bearing had been burnt away with the fallen Djinn that had taken one of their own. Now they were merely siblings, terrified and grieving. And as King Edmund continued to weep silently, Ronald could only think of how much he wanted to see his own brother, to hold Hilary tightly and feel him breathing and alive.

Then the moment was through and Queen Susan gasped in delight and the gathered heard the deep coughs of the High King, and Queen Lucy had slumped against her sister in relief, and King Edmund was smiling through his tears. A cheer went up among the Narnians, loud and clear and full of all the relief they felt at their High King's survival, at their own. Pushing thoughts of home deep into his heart, Ronald took up the cheer, thankful for the tiniest bit of happiness in this darkest of mornings.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

Last chapter, but there's also a short epilogue that hints a bit more as to the crossover.

* * *

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Ronald was quickly pressed into service as a messenger to enter the caves and tell the hidden citizens of the victory. He did so, and then helped as he could, carrying children through the surf, letting the older Narnians lean on his meager strength for support. Then he did whatever job was given him, stopping only when the broken well was approached by a contingent of Dryads from the House of the Diamond Fount. Ronald hovered nearby as Mirrormere slowly rose, a gentle stream instead of a storm. Her eyes were hollow as she held the limp, burned body of Silversun in her slender arms, and she fell limply back into her waters after relinquishing her burden to the solemn Dryads.

Silversun's body, already washed by the well-water, was solemnly taken into the castle, to be prepared for burial. Ronald did not follow; he had not been able to endure when his aunt had prepared his mother's body, and he certainly did not feel he had the strength to attempt such a thing, not now. Instead, he moved to the edge of the broken well. He could not see Mirrormere, but he still leaned over and murmured. "I'm…I'm sorry for what happened." As much as Ronald had hated the platitudes of strangers, he wanted to say _something_ to the Naiad who had been part of such a loss.

The low pool rippled slightly and a watery voice whispered, "Thank you."

Ronald nodded, not knowing if Mirrormere could see him. "He was my friend too," he said, almost to himself. Then he walked away, to help where he could for as long as he could until night fell and sleep took him against his will.

00000

When Ronald woke, it was the cusp of dawn once more and the world was quiet, solemnly peaceful. Blinking, Ronald realized that he had fallen asleep in the southern garden where he had been helping steady the nearly-fallen trees of some Dryads. He had curled up behind a large crape myrtle and had been overlooked by the others.

Though apparently not completely. As he sat up, Ronald was startled as a female Dryad stepped out of a nearby tuliptree. She smiled at the boy. "I did not wish to wake you, so I guarded your sleep. You may be more comfortable if you find a mattress-bed, though."

Ronald knew she was right by the terrible crick in his neck. "Thank you," he said politely, ignoring the pain he had felt at seeing a Dryad who was merely a reminder of his lost friend.

"Thank _you_," she replied, and then Ronald recognized her tree as one they had saved the day before.

Ronald walked alone to the castle. The guards on duty, tired as they looked, still examined him carefully before they let him through. Blurry-eyed, Ronald stumbled through the dark hallways not yet lit by the just-rising sun. After a few turns and twists, Ronald knew he was lost. Hopefully Silversun would….Ronald choked up as he remembered once again that Silversun was gone, would no longer be there to guide him in this still-strange land. Tears began welling up and Ronald desperately tried to wipe them away with his dirty, burnt, and torn nightshirt.

A noise sounded down the hallway and Ronald jumped, startled. Thinking only that he did not wish to be found crying in the halls, he lunged for the nearest door, opening it and darting in before carefully closing it behind him. His heart beating fast, Ronald began hiccupping sobs. He leaned his forehead against the closed door and let the tears come. He missed Silversun, he missed his mother. He wanted to go home, away from this overwhelming, beautiful, terrible place. He wanted the familiar English countryside, he wanted Hilary and Father and _home_. Ronald sniffled and rubbed his nose with his sleeve, then sneezed at the ash dust.

"There is a handkerchief in the drawer of the table next to you."

Ronald whirled around at the low, deep voice. His eyesight was still too blurred by tears to see more than a shadowy figure in the dim candlelight and the pinpricks of morning light from behind the draperies. Fumbling, he found the drawer and the handkerchief. Finally wiping his eyes clear, Ronald looked again at the man whose room he had obviously trespassed into unknowingly. "I'm sorry for…for intruding, I g…got lost and…" Thought connected to sight and Ronald trailed off into a rather embarrassing squeak as his eyes adjusted and he realized whom he was addressing.

Sitting upright on top of a large bed was High King Peter. With his golden hair still burnt and covered in a sheen of ash, he looked as if he had merely removed his armor before collapsing to rest. He did not look to be newly awakened, however, for he was even now plucking a soothing melody on a golden hand-harp.

The soft, calming music did nothing for Ronald's dismay at having barged into the room of the High King of Narnia. "Your majesty! Forgive me, I…"

The High King, though, smiled warmly. "Do not fret. I am no tyrant to throw out a lost child." The man turned his head slightly, studying Ronald, his fingers still moving upon harpstring. "Indeed, are you not the boy who wandered here from a land unknown even to my brother, and who saved our sister?"

"I…I didn't do much, your majesty," stammered Ronald, his cheeks reddening. He truly had done nothing, no matter that his presence had been inadvertent salvation for Queen Susan. Still, he had been secretly proud of that, until he had been too cowardly and helpless to aid Silversun and the others in battle.

The High King must have seen some of this play upon Ronald's face, for the man's piercing, blue eyes softened with sympathy. "Come – Master Ronald, is it not? Come, sit down, child." The High King nodded at the end of the bed.

Not willing to disobey even a gentle command, Ronald moved over to the bed, which rose nearly to his chin, and was lumpy with blankets. "Umm…"

The laughter of the High King was bright and amused, but soft. "You may stand on the chest there at the foot." Ronald did so, using the wooden trunk to scramble onto the bed. As he did so, the High King added, "Take care not to jostle him, if you will." Startled, Ronald looked at the High King as he sat down on the edge of the bed; he realized then that some of what he thought was lumps was actually the sleeping form of King Edmund upon the coverlet. The dark-haired king was curled up close to his brother, with his head lying upon the High King's blanketed lap.

The Just King looked remarkably young in sleep, yet still somehow held the ancient feel of a faerie king in his countenance. His face was troubled, though, brows furrowed, deep shadows under his eyes. That King Edmund had not even noticed Ronald lumbering onto the bed was startling, and worrying. Ronald looked up at the High King. "Is he alright?"

The warmth of the High King's smile was dimmed with regret. "He shall be, in time. His was the hardest task in a way; he was forced to leave the city and ride for reinforcements. The eagles of the Western Aeries had set out when they heard of the attack at the Forest Fence, but had camped far south and west of there, for none among us suspected a siege of Cair Paravel." There was a haunted look in the High King's eyes as he said this, and he hand faltered on the harp for the briefest moment. Then his attention returned to his brother, and with the attention came a fond smile. "My brother pushed himself beyond endurance to reach the eagles, yet worse was his despair when he thought himself too late."

Ronald shifted where he sat. Here, in the dim candlelight, with the morning sun hidden, the High King seemed less the mighty Saxon warrior and more a man who worried for his little brother, and a man who had tasted death. And, in the hidden dawn and the candlelight, Ronald felt the courage he needed to speak. "We all thought you were dead," he said softly.

A strange, thoughtful look fell across the High King's face. "I believe I was, or at least close enough. Though not so close they my sister could not heal me."

Ronald looked down at his hands, which were tightly clutching the silken coverlet. "What…what was it like?" he asked, biting his lip slightly. "I mean, if you remember. It's just…with my mother and now…now Silversun and all the others." Ronald glanced up at the High King, hoping he would understand. "I…I just wanted to know what it's like…for them."

The music singing from the harp became less a lullaby as Ronald spoke, and became clearer, almost religious, like the chants of monks. The High King turned his gaze from Ronald to the harp as he answered the question, in a voice both wondering and knowing. "I felt…peaceful, but not weak. It was as if all was right in the world. Yet still I knew it was only for me to taste." The High King looked up and smiled at Ronald, this time without any shadows in his eyes. "Our loved ones who have gone on are at peace, yet it is not for us to dwell on it, but to wait patiently and be prepared for our own journey."

It was much like had been said to Ronald at his mother's funeral, but to hear it said by one who had experienced death gave more meaning and comfort. Ronald looked back at King Edmund, who had not stirred once in the course of the conversation. "He would miss you," Ronald said suddenly, the words drawn from a brother's knowing heart. The High King did not respond; he was a mighty warrior, a king fair in face and deeds, but that made him no less wise and he surely saw that Ronald's thoughts were not on King Edmund. They were on someone infinitely dearer to the young boy. "I think…my brother would miss me. If I never came home." The tears returned to the edges of Ronald's eyes. "He needs me. Mum…Mum is gone, nothing can hurt her." Ronald looked at the High King, who expression was one of shared understanding as the boy finished, "My brother needs me and I need him. I need to go home."

The harp-song trailed off into silence and the High King laid a gentle hand on his own brother's dark head. "And we shall help you."

00000

As much at Ronald's insistence as from necessity, the search for a way home was put off. The focus for everyone for the next few days was the repair of Cair Paravel and the funerals of the fallen. Firstly the enemy bodies had been burnt outside the city walls, thoroughly so as not to pollute the land. There had been no savagery done to the enemy, but neither was there sympathy for creatures that had chosen a path of evil.

Care and mourning were given to the fallen Narnians. The many varied creatures of the land held many different ceremonies for their dead – some private, some public, some boisterous, some solemn. Ronald, not wanting to intrude, or indeed to offend, watched some from afar, but mostly kept out of the way. He attended only Silversun's funeral, wearing the green clothes chosen for him by an understanding maid. Throughout it all, he kept his rosary clenched in his hands, a source of comfort as he tried to keep his tears from flowing.

Dryads, he found, were buried, but not alike to the burial of Ronald's mother. Instead, a group of Dryad's from the House of the Diamond Fount had wrapped the body in cloth woven with bark taken from Silversun's own birch tree, white and papery. That tree was the site of the ceremony, in a small woods to the north of the city. There had been dug a grave at the roots of the birch, into which the Dryads gently laid Silversun. Then the tree began waving in the windless air and, to Ronald's surprise, the leaves began falling, though they were green and it was far from autumn. The leaves fell into the grave, covering Silversun's body until it could no longer be seen. The gathered Dryads took up a song, in words unknown and beautiful, rich as loamy soil and rustling like leaves. Many of the trees around them, the trees of the Dryads, bent and flowed with the song. Yet Silversun's tree, tall and white and bare, became utterly still, a sentry for the fallen.

The song brought to mind the requiem mass, and Ronald felt compelled to offer up the words of the _Agnus Dei_, even if he whispered them softly instead of singing:

_Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem,  
__Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem,  
__Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem sempiternam._

Ronald finished, wishing he remembered more, but feeling that the prayer for eternal rest was fitting. He nearly smiled as it struck him that Silversun would find it amusing that the prayer was to the Lamb of God, considering his opinion of Sheep. As if hearing his thoughts, the Dryad's song changed from solemn to slowly joyful, laughter rising. The sun was reaching its height and it cast a golden light upon the barren tree. And behind the sun and the song was the faint roar of a lion.

After a week of mourning, ending with Silversun's funeral, came a week of celebration; celebration for the victory and the lives of those saved. Food and wine flowed as the Narnians gave thanks for life and freedom. Ronald was sure he would never taste such fare again, and he tried to burn the tastes and smells and joyful thanksgiving into his memory. There was no guilt or shame in this joy, for it was clear the Narnians believed that their dead celebrated beyond, that they would exhort their living brethren to do the same. And for once, Ronald could remember his mother's smile without wanting to cry. He could imagine her feasting and laughing, her twinkling eyes urging him to do likewise. He could think of Silversun, and how the Dryad would look stiff and uncomfortable, but would smile and make sure Ronald did not make a fool of himself with the honey-cakes.

Mourning and celebration, death and life, entwined together. It was as if all Father had told him about death and resurrection finally made sense, was made real in this land. It was as if death had become a gift, something to mourn but also to be thankful for in light of the pain in the world. Ronald could imagine Silversun scoffing at immortality, at least in a mortal world. And would Ronald have truly been happy if Mother had lived forever in such pain as she had endured? They were heavy thoughts for a young boy, but not out of place here and now.

00000

As the week ended, most of the repairs had been finished, the dead buried, the injured beginning to heal. Life as it was began settling into its regular course, battered but strong. Only then did Ronald's focus turn once more to home. He was not sure as to how he was to return there, and he did not have the courage to approach any of the kings or queens to ask if they had yet found a way. Despite the High King's assurances on the morn after the battle, surely they had more important things to consider than the homesickness of a foreign child.

Yet not a few evenings later there was a knock on Ronald's door, just as he was about to get ready for bed. Opening it, he was stunned to find the queens standing before him, regal and beautiful, Queen Susan in dusky silver-blue and Queen Lucy in pure white. Queen Susan smiled gently. "Master Ronald, I go to dance in the Forest Fence where first you came to our land. My brother, King Edmund, believes that it is there that you may find your way home once more."

Queen Lucy held out her hand. "Will you come with us?"

Ronald did not know if King Edmund was correct in his theory, though it seemed sound in essence. Whether he returned home or not, however, Ronald was not going to refuse the request of a queen, nor deny himself the chance to witness Queen Susan glide through the trees as she had those weeks before. Thanking the queens, Ronald took Queen Lucy's pale hand, following the queens through the halls, out of the city, and into the forest.

It was when they arrived that Ronald noticed they had not come alone. Along with Dryad and Hamadryad courtiers, both King Edmund and High King Peter and a guard were in attendance. It of course made sense that the brothers were wary of leaving their sisters unprotected, not after the battle with the Djinn. Yet it was also pleasant to see all four together, for Ronald had grown to deeply admire each: Queen Susan and her gentle beauty, King Edmund and his kind wisdom, Queen Lucy's otherworldly grace, and the High King's humble magnificence. Far above Ronald in stature and poise, they were nonetheless hospitable and kind, the images of servant-kings and saintly queens. If he did indeed return to England tonight, Ronald knew he would always remember and honor these kings and queens as what monarchs should be.

The moon had risen far into the sky, watching over them as they entered the Forest Fence. The music rose up, the Hamadryads singing and the High King accompanying them on his harp. To Ronald's surprise, King Edmund also took up the song, his voice clear and sweet, a dark baritone that melded well with the ringing of the harp. And to this Queen Susan began her dance. Around her the Dryads moved, but all in counterpoint to the steps of their queen, whose bare feet flew lightly over the grass. At first Ronald was too caught up in sound and sight to move, but then Queen Lucy gently led him to sit beneath an ash tree. The fair queen gracefully settled upon the grass next to him, her white feet tucked beneath her. Together the let the music wash over them, and Ronald fell soon entranced by song and the swaying of the dancers.

As darkness grew and the stars burned brighter, Ronald felt a sense of dreamy peace begin to cover him as a veil. It was as if he were both awake and asleep, and yet neither. The vision of Queen Susan and the Dryads began to blur ethereally; harp-song and singers grew distant, echoes reverberating softly. Ronald blinked his eyes and a puzzled, content smile crossed his face. Then his eyelids began drooping against his will as the song faded further, but forever burned in his heart. Next to him and far away he head the orphic, fair voice of Queen Lucy whispering, calling: "Be well, child, and hold true."

Then Ronald, clutching his rosary in his hand, let his eyes fall closed and all was dark silence.

000000

When Ronald opened his eyes but a moment later, he knew he was back in England. The air was thick with railway soot, his clothes were stiff and starchy and English, and the stars were now familiar and faint. Getting to his feet, Ronald looked around him, a pang of sadness running through him at the trees that moved only with the wind, at the struggling grass where no delicate feet danced, at the city noise that allowed no harp to sing.

But then the bells of the church called for Matins, singing an echo of Narnian song, and Ronald was moving, running. He flew from the woods, through the streets, to home, to _home_. Bursting through the door, he ignored rules and common sense to race through the house and up the stairs to the small room he shared with his brother. Without care if his brother was sleeping, Ronald barged in and nearly leapt upon the lumpy bed, though he took care not to actually land on the lumps. "Hilary!" he cried and threw his arms around the younger boy.

Of course, since Hilary had been in the process of sitting up, startled awake by the noise, the brothers ended up nearly banging heads together. There was a slight, confused struggle, but when Hilary realized who was attempting to hug him, he stopped struggling and desperately returned the embrace. "Where have you _been_?" the eleven-year old nearly wailed. "I looked for you _all evening_ and Father made me go home and you didn't come and Father's upset and I was _worried_!"

Ronald felt like crying, though he was also extraordinarily glad to know he had not been gone here for as long a time as he had spent in Narnia. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you, I shouldn't have left!"

Hilary sniffled. "I thought…I thought you might have left forever." The younger boy's arms tightened around Ronald. "Please don't leave me!" Hilary's voice broke in desperation, echoing King Edmund's grief when he thought his own brother dead.

"I won't," Ronald promised fiercely in response to the tears, the memory. "I promise, I will _never _leave you forever. _I promise_."

And the brothers held each other until tears were dried and sleep took them to morning's light.


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

Approximately 12 years later.

* * *

Ronald stared at the wall as he sat in his bed, leaning against the headboard, the pain in his legs not allowing him the ability to do much else. His dear wife was a God-send, fussing and caring and beautiful. Ronald smiled, as he always did when thinking of his wife of one year. That had been the worst part of joining this war, leaving his dear girl after only a few months of marriage. But he had lived years on just the memory of her before, until he was of age and free; in the trenches those memories had been his salvation.

Those memories of his wife, and the faint memories of that place. Years had taken away the names, the details. But Ronald still remembered the land, the people. He remembered a woman dancing, an ethereal woman who had not the sunny, earthy beauty of his own darling wife. He remembered a lady in white, sword in hand, and great eagles who fought beings of flame. Fond in his memory was the sight of a white tree standing in a courtyard next to a well or a fountain. Clearest of all he remembered two brothers, one dark and wise, one fair and mighty. He remembered their love for each other, for it never failed to remind him of his own brother.

"Ronald?"

He turned at the knock and the voice, and his smile grew wider. Speak of the devil. Standing in the doorway, pale and worried, was his little brother, no longer so little. "Come in, Hilary." The young man took a few cautious steps and Ronald barked a tired laugh. "It's trench fever, not the plague."

Hilary's smile was small, but at least he came and sat in the chair next to Ronald's sickbed. "I would have come sooner…"

"It's alright, Hilary," Ronald said firmly, putting a stop to his brother's excuses. "I haven't been much for company before now, and you could only get leave when you could."

Hilary relaxed, though there was a touch of wariness in his shoulders. The reason soon came. "Our company heard about what was happening down there…at the Somme." Any jovialness Ronald felt disappeared and he flinched. "We heard the accounts, read the lists." The younger man's fists clenched on the chair's arms. "You could have been on those lists," he ended with a whisper.

Ronald had seen the names on those lists. He knew the faces that belonged to too many of those names. He knew the terror Hilary had felt, to search for his brother's name among so many others, to hear the news of his illness and fearing the worst. Ronald reached out and placed his hand over Hilary's, squeezing it tightly; though older now, both needed the comfort. "I promised I would never leave you forever, didn't I?"

Hilary gave a wet laugh. "I nearly forgot about that." His too-old eyes, aged by the trenches, betrayed the laughter. "I don't think Fritz cares about a boy's promise."

"Well, I'm not headed back anytime soon." As if to accentuate his point, the pain flared in his legs and Ronald hissed beneath his breath.

With a worried glance, Hilary held tightly to Ronald's hand. When the pain subsided enough, Ronald lay back against the headboard. Hilary tucked the blanket tighter around his brother's lap, a rather useless gesture but it was at least something he could do. Biting his lip at the sight of Ronald's pale face, Hilary asked, "How can I help? What do you need?"

Ronald stared at the wall for a long moment. He was not seeing the plain, white paint, however. Instead, he was seeing a lady dancing in the woods, mighty kings, battles of swords instead of rifles, enemies of fire instead of human faces, trees and fountains and gleaming castles. He heard the harp, the songs, and he felt the fire against his face.

"Ronald?"

Blinking, Ronald looked over at his brother's face, which was lined with worry. Then he answered, almost to himself: "I would like paper and pencil, actually." Ronald's gaze returned to the wall and he smiled. "I have a story I would like to write."


End file.
